


(hope i fall, because i) score before i ever throw the ball

by lipgallagher



Series: (shoot the lights out, hide) till its bright out [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Typical Racism/Misogyny/Homophobia, Dubcon Kissing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sleepwalking, Violent Thoughts, Warning: Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipgallagher/pseuds/lipgallagher
Summary: "Harrington. Step into my office."Harrington sighs, "Fine, but no funny business, alright? Teenage boys only wantonething, you know.""Yeah," Billy agrees, easily enough, licking his lips, grinning. He'snotsmiling because it'sfunny, or anything. It'snotfucking funny, but his mouthwantsto smile, and Billycan'tmake it stop. GoodGod, he fuckinghatesHarrington. Who thefuckwalks into some guy's bedroom talking aboutknowing what boys want? That'sdefinitelysome gay shit. Even King Steve has to know that. "Iknow. I didn't thinkyoudid, see, just 'cause I didn't think you werethat kind of girl--"Harrington rolls his eyes, but he plays along, shuts Billy's door as he says, "Yeah, well, my mom always tells me to stay away from boys like you.""Hey, ifIhad to look after something as pretty as you, I bet I'd say thesamegoddamn thing."ALTERNATIVELY: a couple of days in the life of billy hargrove, christmas break 1984 edition.





	(hope i fall, because i) score before i ever throw the ball

**Author's Note:**

> to anyone whos been sending me fic prompts on tumblr recently, i really appreciate them all and im working on writing them, i promise!!!
> 
> notes for 80s purists and/or science nerds: ive actually never seen _e.t._ and im aware it wasnt released on vhs until the late 80s but i feel like the party wouldve found a way to get a copy of it somehow just out of intense excitement over the coming 1985 rerelease of _e.t._ maybe so? so tbh idk just go with me on this okay? im trying. also re science, i had my keys frozen once but it was so fucking hot out that i just let nature take its course but im using the vague slight science knowledge ive got to assume the water thing would work but i mean if not, like. god. just go with me on that one too okay? 
> 
> triggerwise, i cant believe dubcon kissing was already a tag but i mean...yikes. anyway that happens at the very end, if you want to skip it.  
> um...yeah.  
> as always, i am very sorry in advance.

There's nothing to spend money on in Hawkins, because there's nothing  _in_ Hawkins.

So, Dad and Susan must've been saving a _lot_ of money over the past couple months, because Billy gets _way_ more Christmas gifts than he was expecting.

Susan gets him a pocket knife with his initials engraved into the handle, and a box of fancy caramels, and a bottle of Drakkar Noir, because the woman apparently has  _some_ kind of sense of humor that Billy's just never seen any evidence of, before. 

Dad gives him a whole carton of Marlboros, a multipack of thick winter socks, and a kind of wild as hell book about doing cocaine in New York and being crazy as shit called  _Bright Lights, Big City_  that Dad probably only bought because he didn't realize it was something Billy would actually like.

Max made Billy a dreamcatcher, because she's thirteen and apparently too proud to ask Billy for money to use to buy him a gift, which was smart of her, because Billy would've laughed and said no, and honestly?

He _probably_ would've been unnecessarily mean about it, too.

He's never had a dreamcatcher before, but he's also just never _needed_ one.

Billy doesn't have bad dreams all that often. 

What he's _got_ is bad shit to deal with in _real life_ , every fucking day, but dreamcatchers probably don't work like that, so he's _probably_ just going to shove it into his closet and forget all about it.

Still, he's got to admit, it's a pretty nice gift. 

Billy didn't give anybody anything he _made_ , or even really put any _thought_ into. He just bought three Hallmark cards, stuffed some money into each one, and taped a Milky Way chocolate bar to the front of all of the envelopes, so, _really_ , everybody else did a  _lot_ better than him, but like his mom used to say, it's the thought that counts, and, _actually_?

These people team up to make Billy fucking  _miserable_ on a _daily basis_ , so he didn't really  _have_ to get them jack  _shit_.

 

 

 

 

  
They open presents at six in the morning, trudge out to church just before eight, eat an early lunch at eleven. 

Billy finishes his new book by seven forty-five, smokes four cigarettes, thinks about going out to see what's up in Hawkins tonight, except. 

_Jesus_ , he already  _knows_ what's up in Hawkins tonight, because it's the same as what's up in Hawkins  _every_ fucking night.

Absolutely fucking  _nothing_. 

He leaves his room, grabs a Tab out of the fridge, leans against the kitchen door to watch Max sitting on the couch while she watches  _A Charlie Brown Christmas_.  

When he was a kid, Billy used to go fucking  _crazy_ for the dumb way Snoopy would tilt his head up to dance. 

He thought it was the funniest shit ever. 

It's almost embarrassing now, but only  _almost_ , because it's not like anybody else knows except for him. 

And it's _dumb_ , but that gets him thinking about the time he took Max to Camp Snoopy for her birthday, at Knott's Berry Farm, because Max's dad called at 9 in the morning to bail on her for the day, and so, out of fucking  _nowhere_ , she was crying and Susan wasn't there and Billy didn't know what to  _do_ with her, he just knew if Max was still crying when Dad and Susan got back,  _he_ was going to catch the blame for it, and he was bored as shit at home, _anyway_ , and,  _fine_ , he didn't have his license, but he'd _just_ gotten his learner's permit from the DMV, so it was fine, because it was only a fifty minute drive,  _even_ with traffic clogging up the 5 freeway. 

But when they got there, Max turned out to be too old to really get a kick out of the whole Charlie Brown theme, so they ended up just drinking boysenberry punch and chilling on the sombrero ride most of the day, just getting back in line and going again and again and _again_ , because Max was too small to ride most of the rollercoasters, and the teacups were always his favorite thing about Disneyland, and the sombreros were _basically_ the exact same shit. 

"Merry Christmas," Max says.

The TV is off, the lights on the Christmas tree are off, and Max is standing right in front of him, probably waiting for him to move so she can get past him and go to bed. 

Just for fun, just out of boredom, just because he knows that he  _can_ , Billy takes his time finishing off his Tab, pushing off the doorframe, saying, "Yeah. Merry Christmas." 

 

 

 

 

 

On Wednesday morning, Billy wakes up and eats half of a box of that marshmallow cereal with the leprechaun on the box before Dad gets out of bed and walks in to the kitchen and just starts  _screaming_ at him.

Billy's not too sure on how to handle it, because he can  _tell_ Dad's just pissed because he _can_ be. 

It's not about Billy. 

Billy just  _happens_ to fucking  _be_ here. 

Nobody can sleep through crazy loud shit like this, so Susan and Max are probably just staying out of it, because that's what they _always_ do, and that's fine, _whatever_ , good for _them_ , but. 

He listens to Dad shout for one minute, two, _three_ , before he realizes his hands are shaking and his heart's trying to beat its way right out of his chest, so he starts apologizing. 

He's _not_ sorry, because he still hasn't fucking _done_ anything _wrong_ , but he needs to get the fuck out of here. 

He  _needs_ to get out, but  _Dad_ needs to yell, so the fucker just keeps  _going_. 

Five minutes, ten, fifteen. 

Dad breaks to pour a cup of coffee, and Billy is  _out_ at seven-thirty, in his socks and his pajamas, and his hair's a fucking _shitshow_ , but it's okay. 

He's not fucking dead, at least. 

He  _could_ be fucking dead.

Dad's got a  _real_ short fuse, lately. 

Billy's got his car keys, probably because there  _is_ a God, and he's trying to say that he's cool with Billy, now, since Billy  _finally_ took his sinning ass down to Mass yesterday. 

He slips into the sneakers and Hawkins High shirt he's got in his trunk, the ones he's supposed to wear to basketball practice, runs his fingers through his hair, drives into town.

 

 

 

 

 

Billy's still _kind of_  grounded, but all that means is that Billy's spent the past couple days, Christmas excluded, forcing Max to go out and do shit whenever he wants to get out of the house for a minute. 

But he's alone, now. 

He heads for the arcade, but it's closed, so he drives to McDonald's, gets a cup of coffee, gets five orders of hash browns, then circles back to hang around outside the arcade until it opens.

 

 

 

 

 

Billy's out all day.

He does one lap around the arcade to figure out what games Max usually plays, and then he dedicates the rest of his day to breaking most of her high scores, replacing _MAD MAX_ with _BILLY THE KID_ out of determination, spite, and rusty as hell video game skills. 

Max is going to be angry as shit, probably, but.

That's  _her_ problem, not Billy's.

When he's out of quarters, out of dollars to convert to quarters, out of twenties to break into dollar bills, he leaves. 

He's  _not_  tired, he's  _still_ angry, he  _still_ wants to fucking reach out and _break_ something, but it's cold and dark and quiet outside, so.

Dad'll give him shit for coming home late. 

He  _knows_ that, but he thinks it, again and again and again, just so his brain will realize it. 

_I'm going home now, Dad's going to yell, Dad's going to hit me, and I'm gonna stand there and take it._

_Is that cool?_

_Can I do that, or is it time to freak out?_

His hands don't shake, his heartbeat doesn't speed up, his body's  _probably_ shutting down because the blood in his veins is  _so_ cool it's practically fucking  _ice_.

That's as good as it's going to get.

Billy pulls the Camaro away from the arcade and into the street. 

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet is playing on the local oldies radio station, loud fast unrestrained  _and the man at the back said everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz_ , and Billy kind of loses himself to it, because he fucking  _loves_ this song, and anyway, _honestly_ , Hawkins is  _so_ safe to drive through that fucking  _five-year-olds_  could be operating cars around here and it'd  _still_ be safe as all shit, except he opens his eyes and suddenly blue and red lights are washing over him, and he groans, "Oh,  _fuck_ me, Jesus fucking  _Christ_." 

The cop parks when Billy does, so he's obviously going to come up behind him on foot, and that means that Billy _could_ drive off and hope that the cop loses interest before he follows him, _or_ he could just man up and take it.

Billy _doesn't_ want to do that, but it's snowing and it's not like Billy's a fucking _native_ , or anything, so he's probably not exactly going to  _excel_ in any given backwoods car chase, so he takes the little bit of time he's got to duck his head, close his eyes, start, " _Hail_ Mary, _full_ of grace--"

 

 

 

 

 

The cop gives him a hard time for still having California plates. 

Billy didn't  _know_ he legally _had_ to change out his license plates, but even if he  _did_ know, there's no way in hell he was actually going to  _do_ it. 

As Harrington might say, in  _what_ fucking universe would he  _ever_ do that?

When the cop leans into Billy’s window to hand back his license and registration, he sighs, sounding like this is the  _single_ most boring thing that’s ever happened to him, “I'm gonna go easy on you, 'cause it's the holidays, and I don't really wanna take you down to the station for this, okay, kid? But it’s  _dangerous_ to operate a vehicle when you’re inebriated. Do me a favor; be _smarter_ in the future, alright?”

And _naturally_ , Billy, who is sober as all hell, who has  _almost_ got out of this unscathed, who has actually  _never_ had a cop decide to  _go easy_  on him, grins with all his teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Billy is attempting to squirm out of the cops' grip, but it’s mostly pointless. The cop isn’t all that huge, or anything, or,  _fine_ , he's bigger than _Billy_ , definitely  _taller_ than Billy, but  _most_ grown men are taller than Billy is, so _that's_ not saying much, but he’s _clearly_ got a lot of rage he’s not dealing with, or something.

Anxiety, maybe.

Billy doesn't know, but he can fucking _relate_. 

Or, he  _could_ relate, if he wasn't currently pretending that this cop is the reason for  _all_ his problems, in his  _entire_ life,  _ever_ , but he  _is_  doing that, so.

Can't relate.

The cop is mostly ignoring him, which is pretty wild.

Billy is  _not_ exactly an easy guy to ignore, and  _especially_ not up-close like this. 

When Dad opens the door, the cop loosens his grip on Billy, like he thinks Billy's _less_ likely to run away now, which is just not even _sort of_ close to being true.

“Evening. You Mr Hargrove?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, what’s going on? Was my son out causing trouble?”

“Let's just say most people get dangerous behind the wheel of a car in certain situations,” the cop says. “But I think maybe your kid is dangerous in a car at possibly _all_ times.”

The thing is, much like _most_ dumb violent assholes in history, probably, Dad _isn't_ very creative, so.

If that was _it_ , if the cop left without saying anything else, Billy would've caught a beating, _sure_ , but he was _expecting_ that, right?

And maybe some extra babysitting, but that would've been okay, too.

_Fine_ , he's been giving her a lot of shit, lately, kind of just because he _can_ , but Max  _has_ been almost _shockingly_ low maintenance ever since she almost killed him in November. 

Or, _okay_ , maybe  _he_ almost killed a couple people, and _she_ was just kind of reacting to her surroundings.

That's probably more fair.

Still, it  _could_ all be just fine, but then, the cop adds, right before he turns to leave, "Maybe just keep his car keys on ice for a little bit, huh?"

And those words are going to be the nails in Billy's goddamn coffin.

He can feel it in his _bones_. 

But Max is still up.

Mad Max Mayfield, the Judas to Billy's Jesus back in California, always selling him out to Dad and Susan, Saint  _fucking_ Lazarus here in Indiana, playing dead and rushing back to life to swing baseball bats at him, a tiny perfect little Mary, right now, good and soft and protecting him even if she doesn't know it.

She's got her feet tucked up under her on the couch, is eating chocolate Cap'n Crunch straight out of the box, is watching some shitty bootleg copy of  _E.T_.

Dad says, "Maxine, why don't you go on to bed?"

It's not _actually_ a question, but.

Max doesn't notice.

"I'm almost at the  _best_ part, Neil," she says, sounding annoyed, like she can't  _believe_ she's got to explain that, refusing to take her eyes off the screen. "If I stop right now, I'll have to start  _all_ over tomorrow."

And Dad and Susan  _might_ be out all day tomorrow, but if the snow keeps up the way it's been going, they  _might_ be stuck at home all day. 

It's a two hour long movie, and who  _knows_ how many times she might have to start it and stop it and start it again from the beginning,  _tomorrow_.

The kid's smart. 

"Billy. Go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow." 

_Hitting_ is not _talking_ , and they both goddamn know that  _that's_ what's happening tomorrow, but Billy's not fucking _suicidal_ , so he replies, "Yes, sir."

The TV is loud as shit, which would get Billy in  _so much_ trouble if it was him, but Max gets off fine, of fucking  _course_ , so, even though he's in his room, now, Billy can hear some dumbass kid bribing an alien to be his friend by feeding it some Reese's Pieces.

Billy's pretty sure that happens near the beginning of the movie, right? 

_Best part_. 

Fucking lying little  _bitch_.

He listens for a few more minutes, then rolls over and tugs a pillow down over his head.

Billy fucking  _hates_ Reese's Pieces.

They're just less good versions of M&Ms, and he's _always_ hated peanut butter. 

He'd still probably  _kill_ somebody,  _anybody_ , for the sweet sugar rush that always comes from sinking his teeth into a Reese's Cup.

They  _have_ to start making Reese's Cups bigger, because, well, maybe Billy's just got a freakishly big mouth, right? 

Or,  _maybe_ ,those things are  _ridiculously_ tiny. 

Anything he can fit _two_ of in the palm of just _one_ of his hands is _basically_ a waste of his time. 

It's almost  _1985_. 

Billy can't  _believe_ he's  _still_ living in a world where Reese's Cups are too small to eat. 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy's up at eight.

He could go out and start lifting, maybe have a cigarette, and, now that he's thinking about it, he remembers that Dad and Susan both took the week off for a vacation that never panned out, so.

Susan might not be up, yet. 

If he starts making breakfast for her now, undercooks some pancakes and burns the edges the way she always does, so Dad thinks she  _somehow_ found the time to do it herself in between sleeping, and  _whatever_ , presumably sucking Dad's dick like she's getting fucking  _paid_ for it, she  _might_ pity him, might try to get Dad to go easy on him, later. 

It's not likely, but.

It's _possible_.

Historically speaking, weirder shit _has_ probably happened, before.

So that's always an option. 

But he doesn't start breakfast, doesn't smoke, doesn't even lift, just stays in bed and listens to Max talking on her dumb nerd radio, through the wall. 

"Billy _might_ drive me, 'cause he's been kinda cool this week, but I don't know, I think he's grounded today."

"You  _think_? Is he or not?  _Over_."

_Jesus Christ_.

It's such  _bullshit_ that  _Billy_ had to get moved out to the middle of nowhere all because of  _Max_ , and she's already got a _million_ new friends with walkie talkies who don't know how to fucking  _sleep_ , apparently, like maybe she doesn't _get_ that they're being fucking  _punished_ , here. 

Like maybe the only person  _really_ being punished, at all, is  _Billy_. 

He knocks on their shared wall, snarls, "Hey,  _shit for brains_ , I am  _trying_ to fucking  _sleep_ in here," hears his voice come out even deeper and angrier and colder than usual, maybe just because it's so early, but.

Maybe just because he's fucking _furious_ , right? 

_Fuck_ Max and her dumb stolen baseball bat, _fuck_ Dad and his _respect and responsibility_ mantra, fuck _everybody_.

Billy's  _allowed_ to be angry. 

Or, at least, nobody can physically  _stop_ him from being angry, which is _good_ , because he fucking _deserves_ to be angry.

Anger is the only thing he's _got_ , anymore. 

Max quiets down a little bit, maybe shifts over to the other side of her room, or pulls her blankets over her head, or something, but Billy still hears it when she sighs, "I don't _know_ yet. Um, over." 

"Okay, well, if we have to get Steve to pick you up, we need to know ASAP, 'cause, honestly, it was _easy_ when his parents were home, 'cause they didn't want us standing at the door forever so they'd make him come talk to us, but they went somewhere, again, so right now he's really only responding to ice cream bribes, and  _serious_ bullying, but now he doesn't open his door or answer his phone if he thinks you'll be mean, so basically you  _gotta_ tell us so we have enough time to bike to the grocery store. Over."

"It's the  _dead of winter_ ," Max protests. "Who's gonna eat ice cream  _now_? Over." 

" _Steve Harrington_ ," whines the annoying kid. The kid with the voice. The one who wears the dumb hat all the time.  _Dustin_. "He's not  _like_ you. He's  _from Indiana_. He eats ice cream  _whenever_. Over." 

"Well,  _whatever_ , that sounds unrealistic." 

"You mean, except for the part where it is  _totally_ realistic, 'cause it's  _exactly what's happening_?!  _Over_." 

The radio crackles, and some other boy says, "Dustin,  _I_  can handle that. My mom is going shopping soon. Nancy's making cookies for Barb's parents, and I guess she needs vanilla extract. Over."

Max asks, "What's vanilla extract?" 

Billy knocks on the wall again, pitches his voice low and mean and  _threatening_ , "It's for  _baking_ , Maxine; now, shut  _up_ , or I swear to  _God_ , I'll come in there and  _fucking_ kill you.  _Over_." 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy's keys are in the freezer.

Billy breathes, lifting one banged-up hand to cover his mouth, "What the  _fuck_."

" _Watch_ your _mouth_ ," Dad grinds out, anyway, like he can't fucking  _see_ Billy right in fucking _front_ of him.

Billy can't really tell how Dad's expecting him to  _watch_ his  _mouth_ , seeing as how Billy's eyes are actually pretty _fucking_ busy, at the moment, because Billy is staring at his car keys, stuck in a _huge_ block of  _ice_ , in the fucking  _freezer_ , next to a frozen casserole that Billy narrows his gaze in on, next, because he's gonna eat that  _whole_ thing, the _first_ chance he gets. 

Kind of out of spite, but. 

_Kind of_ also because he's about to have a  _lot_ of time at home, it looks like, so that means he'll be stuck weightlifting, babysitting, getting treated like shit by his dad, and nothing the fuck _else_ until school starts up again in a couple weeks. 

If he  _doesn't_ load up on carbs, just as a self defense mechanism, just to keep his body sleepy yet running yet  _not_ running right off a fucking  _cliff_ , he's going to end up killing himself after the first three days. 

_Maybe_ sooner. 

 

 

 

 

 

Susan made French toast for breakfast. 

She's not that great of a cook, Susan, but today, Billy doesn't really give a shit. 

She dated Dad for two years before they got married, back home, so she knows Billy's habits better than most people, saw him through the worst of puberty, knows what he eats like. 

There's about an entire loaf of bread on the table, covered in gross egg goo mixed with milk and cinnamon, and Billy is going to eat at  _least_ three quarters of it, right now, and then he's going to go get the shit kicked out of him by Dad. 

Max and Susan will wash the dishes. 

Dad will take Susan out for the day. 

Max will get picked up by one of her loser friends and she'll beg Billy not to rat her out, and he'll give her a hard time but let her go, eventually, because he'd  _love_ it if she'd just go out and freeze to death in the woods, honestly, _especially_ if it happens now, when he's got no car and genuinely  _can't_ be held responsible for anything she does out of the house. 

He'll kill the rest of his day lifting weights while that casserole cooks, and then he'll eat, get stoned, maybe call up Harrington to tell him he lost his wheels and needs somebody to tell Max to get her ass home, right the  _fuck_ now, or he'll start dropping bodies on the fucking pavement next time he lays eyes on any single  _one_ of those annoying little kids, and Harrington will _probably_ sigh and give Billy a lot of shit over the phone, but will _eventually_ agree to help him out because it's not like he's got anything  _else_ going on, that fucking pathetic hasbeen  _loser_ , and then Max will come home and yell at Billy for embarrassing her in front of her friends. 

Billy won't care, though, because he'll still be stoned. 

He'll take a shower, jack off, go to bed early. 

It  _could_ actually be a good day, thinking about it like that. 

Not really  _ideal_ , but. 

_Maybe_ a good day. 

 

 

 

  

 

Billy eats thirteen pieces of French toast, drinks four glasses of milk, goes outside without protest when Dad says he wants to  _talk in private_. 

 

 

 

 

 

When they're done outside, Billy can barely fucking  _breathe_.

He takes a couple minutes to follow Dad back in, but when he does, it turns out that Dad's still standing by the kitchen sink, rinsing Billy's blood off his knuckles like it's no big deal, and Billy wants to fucking _puke_ , or _kill_ him, or _both_.

And, like he's a fucking _mindreader_ , now, Dad glares over at Billy, which _almost_ has Billy apologizing, again, until he realizes it's just because Dad's hit a particularly stubborn patch of blood that won't rinse off, and Billy's not going to apologize for, whatever, just fucking _having_ blood, so he keeps his mouth shut when Dad loudly decides he's just going to  _take a fucking shower, instead, Jesus Christ_.

He storms down the hall, slams the bathroom door, and Billy opens the freezer, loses track of time just _staring_ in at the ice holding his keys holding him fucking _captive_ in this fucking _hellhole_ , and.

Susan tells him, "Billy, Maxine is going to have some of her friends come by the house to play Dungeons and Dragons, while we're out, alright? If you could kind of check in, keep an eye on them, that'd just be _amazing_." 

Billy thinks,  _oh, sweet Mary, mother of God, please have mercy and fucking kill me now._

Mary doesn't come through.

Maybe, if Billy _really_ wants Mass to work out for him, he's got to start going on a regular basis, or something. 

_God_.

That would be so much fucking _work_.

Billy gives the ice one last longing look, closes the door, turns his tired eyes on Susan. "Tell her to remind them before they leave their goddamn houses that I can't drive anybody home, later."

Susan nods, looking... _something_. 

Jesus, what the _fuck_. 

If the woman's got something to _say_ , can't she just _do_ it, so they can both _move on_ , already?

He doesn't have the fucking  _energy_ to play mind games. 

Not today.

Susan says, "Thank you, Billy."

Billy thinks, _burn in hell_.

Billy says, "Yeah. I'm going back to bed for a little bit." 

 

 

 

 

 

A little bit comes, and it goes, and then. 

Billy wakes up. 

According to his watch, it's 12:58.

Outside his room, he can hear a million kids screaming about magic and goblins and shit like that. 

He throws one of his shoes at the door, shouts, "Unless you people  _want_ to get murdered, you better quiet it down right the  _fuck_  now!" 

He's not expecting his door to open, for Harrington to lean in to his room, slip his Ray-Bans off his face, saying, " _Chill_ , pretty boy. _Wow_ , hey,  _you_ sure look like shit, don't you?" 

_Pretty boy_.

Billy's _aware_ that Harrington's just throwing his own shit back at him for kicks, but. 

_Christ_ , Billy's going to fucking  _kill_ him. 

But.

Not right now, because he got in bed without cleaning up, since Dad was in the shower, so his own goddamn blood is sticking him down to the sheets. 

It's gonna hurt like _hell_ to get up, which means Billy's definitely  _not_ doing that, not in  _front_ of anybody, but. 

He still says, "Harrington. Step into my office." 

Harrington sighs, "Fine, but no funny business, alright? Teenage boys only want _one_ thing, you know." 

"Yeah," Billy agrees, easily enough, licking his lips, grinning. He's _not_ smiling because it's _funny_ , or anything. It's _not_ fucking funny, but his mouth _wants_ to smile, and Billy _can't_ make it stop. Good _God_ , he fucking _hates_ Harrington. Who the _fuck_ walks into some guy's bedroom talking about _knowing what boys want_? That's _definitely_  some gay shit. Even King Steve has to know that. " _I_ know. I didn't think _you_ did, see, just 'cause I didn't think you were _that kind of girl_ \--" 

Harrington rolls his eyes, but he plays along, shuts Billy's door as he says, "Yeah, well, my mom always tells me to stay away from boys like you." 

"Hey, if _I_ had to look after something as pretty as you, I bet I'd say the _same_ goddamn thing."

A girl would blush, duck her head, smile. 

Harrington rolls his eyes  _again_ , sighs again, grabs Billy's pack of Marlboro Reds off their previous resting place, a copy of  _East of Eden_  that Billy kind of sort of _technically_ stole from a library, back home. 

He didn't  _mean_ to steal it, but he forgot to return it before moving to Indiana. 

He  _could_ mail it back, but it's  _one_ thing to owe the Santa Monica Public Library twelve bucks in late fees, and it's  _another_ thing to  _tell_ them that he's  _aware_ he owes them money,  _and_ to give them his current address, too, while he's at it, so. 

He's  _got_ to keep it, there's _really_ no way around it, which is probably more annoying for  _him_ than it is for the  _library_ , because  _East of Eden_  is an okay movie, but the book is boring as shit. 

"You mind?" Harrington asks,  _after_ he's already lit one of Billy's smokes, has moved to stand a little closer to the window. 

A little closer to Billy, too, but. 

_He's_ not going to be the one who mentions it. 

"This is the _rudest_ thing anybody's ever had the _balls_ to do to me in my own fucking _room_." 

"Sounds like bullshit to me."

Billy lies, "It's _not_."

"Don't push me, Hargrove," Harrington smiles. "I'm an  _expert_ on bullshit."

"Is that so?"

" _Oh_ , yeah. Ask  _anybody_." 

 

 

 

 

 

When Billy finally gets up, takes a shower, gets dressed, Harrington is sitting at Billy's kitchen table, wearing his sunglasses, eating a Chipwich, looking as dead as Billy still feels. 

Billy, who is pretty sure there was  _no_ ice cream at his house this morning, demands, "What the  _hell_ is that?" 

"You want one?" Harrington reaches up and over his head to pull open the freezer, manages to grab another Chipwich without glancing in at that embarrassingly huge block of ice that's currently the bane of Billy's fucking  _existence_. Thank  _God_. "The Party got me, I don't know. Ten, I think." 

" _Why_ call them that?" Billy snatches away the ice cream sandwich, rips off the wrapper, scowls. "Don't  _indulge_ them, okay, they're fucking  _freaks_ , and if nobody  _tells_ them, they're just going to grow up thinking there's nothing  _wrong_ with them." 

"They're _little kids_ ," Harrington tells him, like maybe Billy doesn't already  _know_  that. Max bought a tube of lip balm the other day, left it on the counter in the bathroom, glossy cherry cola flavored overpriced  _trash_ , and Billy's  _immediate_ reaction was just a sharp desire to throw it away, because she's too  _young_ for that kind of shit. He's  _aware_ that they're little kids. "Nothing  _is_ wrong with them."

"Oh, yeah? I call bullshit. Look at  _that_ , for one, okay. What, they're  _nerds_ , but they can't do  _math_ , now? You're  _one_ guy, _why'd_ they get you _so much_ ice cream?"

"They wanted me to get outta bed. It was, like,  _six_ , so they tried pretty hard." 

Someone shouts from the living room, "It was almost  _eleven_ , Steve!"

"We can't waste  _our_ lives just 'cause  _you're_  lazy!"  

"You're a member of the  _Party_ now, Steve! You have to make sacrifices for the  _greater good_!" 

Harrington doesn't respond to any of this, just sits across from Billy, eating ice cream and probably rolling his eyes behind his glasses, so Billy uses his most threatening voice to shout, "Now, I  _know_ you assholes aren't yelling in  _my_ goddamn house after I fucking  _told_ you to shut the fuck up,  _right_?!" 

The living room suddenly gets a lot more quiet. 

Harrington bites his lip on an amused smirk, leans a little closer, pitches his voice nice and quiet, like it's a secret, when he tells Billy, "Listen, the point _is_ , I was fucking  _asleep_ , but those  _assholes_ think I'm a taxi driver. Honestly, if they can bike to  _my_ fucking house, they can bike to  _yours_ , I mean, I don't see why I gotta be here at  _all_ , I don't really get what the  _problem_ is."

But quiet for Harrington isn't quiet by any  _real_ standard of quiet, so he's back to loud as all hell pretty quick, which is _probably_ why there's a kid standing in the doorway now, scowling. "The  _problem_ is that  _douchebag_ tried to  _run us over_ , one time, and went  _psycho_ on us at Will's house, remember?  _Nobody_ wanted to  _come_ to his  _house_. He's a _safety hazard_."  

Okay, he _knows_ it's supposed to be an insult, but.

That's the _best_ thing Billy's _ever_ heard.

If Billy ever has to get business cards made, he's putting  _SAFETY HAZARD_ on them, for _sure_.

" _People_ can't be _safety hazards_."

"Oh, okay, _sorry_ , Steve." The kid nods, shrugs, adds, "I guess I just didn't realize you _knew everything_."

Billy doesn't even know how this kid is still _alive_. 

But Harrington just gives him a bored smile, tilts his head a little when he says, sounding _very_ serious, "Compromises are the _key_ to successfully working in groups, Wheeler. You learn that in high school."

Billy's not really a compromise kind of a guy.

Somehow, he thinks Harrington probably isn't, either. 

And, apparently, _Wheeler_ doesn't think _Wheeler's_ one, because he argues, "No, I  _won't_." 

"Playing for _one_ team during the season is a hell of a lot easier than being expected to play  _every_ fucking sport that's  _ever_  been invented, in gym class,  _all_ year, for  _four_ years, instead," Billy tells the kid, absently, focusing on picking the chocolate chips off of his ice cream. "You're an idiot if you  _don't_ try out for one." 

The living room is abandoned, then, because there's a crowd of kids standing in the doorway, now, acting like Billy's just blown their tiny little minds into millions of pieces. 

" _What_? I thought in high school you only had to take gym for  _two_ years!"

"Are you  _serious_?!"

"Max, is he  _joking_?! I can't  _tell_ when he's  _joking_!" 

"We  _can't_ play on  _sports teams_ , we're not  _built_ for that, we'll  _die_!" 

" _Steve_ \--"

"Oh my _God_ , just go _away_!" Harrington exclaims. " _No one's_ gonna fucking _die_! Don't you think if you were _gonna_ fucking die, I'd give you a _fucking heads up_?!" 

It takes a minute or two, but the kids back off, retreat back to the living room, and when they _do_ , Harrington eyes Billy, looking too  _tired_ for it, but ultimately sighing, anyway, "You really tried to  _run them over_?" 

"Nah," Billy says, around his most reliably charming grin. "Sounds like bullshit to me."

"It _sounds_ like bullshit?"

"Yeah, I mean, there's a _chance_ it happened," _because I did do it, and even if I didn't, it still sure as hell sounds like something I would do_ , goes unsaid, but he's half-sure that Harrington catches it, anyway. "I guess, but _I_ definitely don't remember it, _so_." 

Harrington raises his eyebrows, which is  _actually_ pretty fair, because that was _so obviously_ a lie, but.

Christ, come  _on_ , can't he  _see_  that Billy's _already_ having a bad day? 

"Am I _really_ expected to remember  _all_ the shit I do, Harrington? I do a  _lot_ , okay? I'm a busy guy." 

Harrington mouths, careful and slow and obnoxious, _safety hazard_.

" _Goddamn_ right, motherfucker," Billy confirms, out loud, around the last mouthful of his ice cream sandwich. "Like a _fucking_ earthquake." 

"We don't _get_ earthquakes out here. Do those suck?"

" _Yeah_ , King Steve," Billy sighs wearily. "They _suck_." 

Harrington says,  _clearly_ mocking Billy's  _own_ fucking voice, in his _own_ fucking house, at his _own_ fucking kitchen table, " _Why_ pick the chocolate off the ice cream?  _Why_ do that?" 

"Because I  _can_." 

 

 

 

 

 

He likes to save the chocolate chips, so he can eat them later, when he's done with the ice cream.

He's not telling Harrington  _all_ of his fucking secrets, though.

That's some amateur hour, rookie mistake, _yeah, thanks for asking, I do actually want to get my brains bashed in by a bunch of fag-hating hicks on the side of the freeway_ kind of shit, right there.

Billy's _smarter_ than that.

 

 

 

 

 

"You try sticking that ice in your microwave?" 

"Old house," Billy shakes his head, by way of explanation. "No microwave." 

" _Jesus_ ," mutters Harrington, which is fair enough. 

Billy's _seen_ Harrington's house, and it's not exactly Hollywood Hills mansion sized, but by Hawkins standards, it is  _way_ too fucking big. 

He didn't spend too much time checking out the kitchen, or anything, mainly because he was half-asleep and he was focused on stealing Harrington's food and, also, he just _didn't_ really care about any of Harrington's parents stuff, at _all_ , because parents are _generally_ a bad vibe, and it's best to just pretend they don't exist, whenever that's possible, but. 

This rich kid asshole probably has  _five_ microwaves. 

They share three cigarettes and another ice cream sandwich before Harrington tries again, "Hey, if you got a really big pot, in here, somewhere, we could boil water and put the ice in it." 

That sounds stupid as all hell, so, because he's _honestly_ not sure anymore, Billy asks, "Hold up, are you for _real_?" 

Harrington spits, "What? _Yes_ , asshole." 

_Wow_ , well.

Okay.

Seriously, _when_ is God just going to take pity on Billy and _end_ it already?

All this shit is just getting  _gratuitous_ , now.

"I guess. I don't know. You _really_ think that'd _work_?" 

"Don't talk to me like I'm fucking _dumb_ , Hargrove. I was  _born and raised_  in the Midwest, okay? Maybe  _somebody_ knows more about ice than me, but  _somebody's_ definitely not  _you_."

 

 

 

 

 

There's one huge pot in the top kitchen cupboard, _all_ the way at the back, because nobody's ever used it, probably.

Billy's fairly sure that he's never even _seen_ it before in his _whole life_ , as in, he's honestly not _sure_ where the hell it even  _came_ from, and he _doesn't_ trust it.

That doesn't matter to Harrington, though, who just climbs down off a kitchen chair, holding the pot in his arms, grinning victoriously. 

He carries it over to the kitchen sink, then pauses. "We actually better start with hot water, or we're gonna be here all day." 

In the other room, Max and her dumb friends are still shrieking about magic powers and shit, so.

Billy sighs, "Harrington, we are going to be here all day  _no matter what_." 

"In _what_ fucking world do you think I wanna spend my _whole_ goddamn day watching water boil, Hargrove?"

Billy sighs. " _How_ many worlds are there, again?"

"Why are you _like_ this?" Harrington demands, scowling. "Look, I'm not in the _mood_ , okay? We're starting with hot water, and that's _final_. Where's your fucking shower?" 

 

 

 

 

 

After the first couple minutes, Billy glances over at Harrington and.

Harrington's looking at _him_ , too.

He blinks, like maybe Billy _startled_ him, or something, then points to the door before he lifts a hand to his mouth, mimes smoking, and, _hey_ , it's not like standing around the kitchen and waiting for ice to melt is exactly _riveting_ , so.

So, _yeah_ , Billy nods, only because he'd _love_ to just go out to the backyard to get high, instead of hanging around in here. 

Billy leaves the back door open, just a little bit, so if the whole goddamn house catches on fire, or if one of those annoying as hell kids drops _dead_ , or something, he'll probably be able to hear it. 

_Probably_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Getting high with somebody else is always kind of risky. 

It's an awkward trust exercise kind of vibe, and it's not like Billy dropped tenth grade Drama _right_ when they were doing _Grease_ because he _believed_ in the usefulness of _trust exercises_.

Nobody hates that shit more than him.

_Nobody_.

_Jesus_ , he dropped out of _Grease_ , and he _wouldn't_ have done that unless he _really_ had to. 

But when Harrington's stoned, and that's _way_ before Billy is, just for the record, probably because he doesn't fucking _eat_ , which is also probably why he can't win a fistfight _and_  why he sucks at basketball, but who cares, it's really none of Billy's  _business_ , okay, but.  
  
When Harrington's stoned, he's _kind of_ a fun time.

There's a sudden high-pitched shriek from inside the house, but Billy's heard Max scream a few times, now, so he _knows_ that's not her, and anybody else just  _isn't_ his problem.

Next to him, Harrington sits up straight, listens for a little bit, then slumps back down, bitching, "God, I fucking _hate_ those kids."

"I feel like you'd be a better babysitter if _those kids_ believed you had, I don't know. A _backbone_ , maybe." 

Harrington tips his head back, until it's just grazing Billy's shoulder, smiles slightly, asks, " _Fuck_ , you're one of those people who's gonna discipline his kids by making them sleep outside when it snows, _aren't_ you, Hargrove?" 

It didn't snow back home, but Billy, who has been kicked out of the house and forced to sleep outside in the rain exactly three times in his life, and immediately proceeded to get sick as a fucking dog twice, and _spectacularly_ laid the other time, so it was _actually_ kind of worth it, just tries, "Look, your dad ever spank you when you were a kid?" 

" _What_? God. _No_. I don't. _No_!"

" _Okay_ , and how often do you break his rules?" 

Harrington laughs, "I don't _know_? Not that much." 

Billy doesn't believe that for a fucking  _second_.

"Fine. How much did  _King Steve_  break his daddy's rules?" 

"A _lot_ , I guess." 

" _Exactly_ ," Billy breathes out around a cloud of smoke, holds the joint out for Harrington to take. It's not really his _turn_ again, yet, but. _Whatever_. Billy's feeling generous. "This is a _secret_ , King Steve, so don't go telling anybody my business, or I'm gonna come fuck you _up_ , okay, but. Kids are like dogs. If they don't think you'll hurt them, they'll just run around doing whatever the hell they _want_."

That's _true_ , and Billy _knows_ it is, because when his mom was around, Billy _never_ thought he was going to get hurt, and he _always_ did whatever he wanted, and everything was fucking _perfect_. 

And, now.

Well.

"Man, you are _crazy_ ," Harrington informs him, like it's possible that Billy's seventeen, and has _always_ been like this, and just somehow doesn't already _know_. 

Billy gives him a smile. 

He's going for charming, again, but this time, he forgets to account for Dad fucking up his face this morning, so. 

"Oh,  _Christ_ ," Harrington goes, grinning. "You look like a _serial killer_." 

"What do serial killers look like?" 

Harrington stops smiling, inhales, exhales.

He licks his lips, a little less like Billy, a little more like it's just a scared base animal reaction. 

It should be a _lot_ less attractive than it is.

He says, " _You_."

Billy kicks a foot against Harrington's back, leans his head against the porch rail, closes his eyes. 

 

 

 

 

 

He didn't think about his face, but he left the door open, in case Max needed something, and that should _count_ , shouldn't it?

That should be enough.

Billy's _trying_.

 

 

 

 

 

But he's not trying hard _enough_. 

There's something else that Billy didn't account for. 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy shuts his eyes, for a minute, two, _tops_ , but when he opens them, Dad is there, and he's asking, "Who the hell is this?" 

"Harrington, I. Um, Steve. From my school." And Dad's making that face, that _look at my gay son, being gay in my own goddamn house, like he thinks I'm not going to fucking kill him_  face, so Billy rushes to add, "He babysits Max's friends? He drove everybody over." 

Dad nods slowly, glances back at the house, back down at Harrington, dumb long limbs sprawled across two stairs, head knocking against Billy's thigh. "He's _asleep_." 

Harrington's probably less asleep, and more just too high to react to his fucking surroundings even a _little_ bit, _Christ_ , what a _useless_ son of a bitch, but.

Billy can't tell _Dad_ that Harrington's  _stoned_. 

Except.

Fuck, what's the _alternative_? 

The babysitter thing is true, so it'll hold up, so at least Billy doesn't have to factor _that_ into anything else he says, right now. 

Dad _won't_ freak out on Harrington, not _really_ , because he _can't_.

Billy doesn't know if he came around the back of the house, though, or if he already went through and saw everybody, but the thing about _that_ , is just.

Well, maybe it's kind of shitty of him, but Billy's _not_ about to put his fucking _life_ on the line for _Sinclair_ , who he doesn't even fucking _like_.

That's not his _job_. 

He shifts his leg, sharp and sudden enough to jerk Harrington's head forward, and Harrington groans, sits up a little, clocks Dad standing right above them on the stairs.

Immediately, Harrington calls, voice pitched friendly and slow and _just harmlessly checking in, don't mind me, sir, really_ , "Hey,  _Max_?" 

Max sticks her head out the door. "Steve, hi, can you take Mike home? He said he thinks he's getting sick, so he went to wait in your car?" 

Harrington blinks, nods, stands up. 

He almost trips over Billy when he's going up the stairs, and Billy almost thinks _that's it, it's done, okay, I'm moving on now_ , but then Dad asks, "Steve, was it?" 

Harrington turns around, smiles, holds out a hand. "Yes, sir. Steve Harrington, hi." 

"Hi." They shake hands, and Harrington looks _increasingly_ uncomfortable, and Billy's never actually _cared_ about anybody that's not him being _uncomfortable_ , before, but.  _Christ_ , he cares _now_ , apparently. "Now, you're _friends_ with Billy, is that right?" 

"Dad, Steve's on the basketball team," Billy says, even though Dad didn't fucking _ask_ him, and is going to be pissed that Billy spoke without being spoken to, later, but it's fine. If Dad thinks Billy's being a little bit disrespectful, that's _fine_ , because Billy's _always_ being disrespectful, but if he finds out that Harrington _doesn't_ play basketball anymore, and is really just some random boy coming over to get high with Billy, Dad's _probably_ going to kill them both, right now, in the _yard_ , like fucking _animals_ , and then just go inside to wash his hands, again. "He's just looking after Dustin, today." 

Dad smiles. " _Dustin_ , not Mike?" 

"Dustin _and_ Mike," Harrington cuts in, firmly. "And Will. Will Byers, I don't know if you've met them, yet, the Byers?" 

Billy doesn't get where this is going. 

Maybe it's not going anywhere. 

God knows drugs have made _Billy_ go on some nonsensical rants before, _too_ , but. 

_Goddamn_ is this a bad time for that kind of shit.  

"No, I don't know that we have." 

Harrington nods, rocks back and forth on his feet, tilts his head. "Yeah, it's, um. Not an experience you can really forget. It's, uh. Will, the little one, in there? And then his brother Jonathan, who's in Billy's grade, actually, I think, not really athletic, or anything, but a good artist, I guess, and, um. Yeah, then their mom's this _super_ nice lady, Joyce? She works in town, at the. Well, you probably haven't met her, like I said, you'd _totally_ know if you already did. And she goes out with Jim Hopper, a lot, who's the police chief, here in Hawkins, and--"

Fuck, so. 

_Max_ is smart, and Mike or Sinclair or _both_ , maybe, they're smart, _too_ , but. 

Harrington, right now, is _something else_. 

Billy wasn't expecting that shit, not at _all_ , and neither was Dad, he can _tell_ , but.

Dad's still got a card to play that beats _there's a cop who knows where we all are right now so don't try anything_. 

"And, Steve, it _is_ Steve, isn't it? _Steve_ , do these people know that you're doing _drugs_ when you're supposed to be looking after their _kids_?" 

Ever since they got to Hawkins, Billy's been the villain of every story.

Max is the princess, probably, vulnerable and needy and tiny, and Billy's the villain, _every_ single time, and Billy could've _sworn_ Harrington knew that, but.

Harrington lies, "Um, _shit_ , yeah, listen, _please_ don't rat me out, man. I. I'm _so_ sorry, I guess, I. Look, Billy caught me, out here, and I just thought if Billy got high _with_ me, he wouldn't be able to _tell_ anybody, then, you know? But I _totally_ forgot he was keeping an eye on the kids, for me, for a sec, and I guess I kind of dropped the ball, I'm _sorry_ , I _am_ , but I _need_ this gig, _please_ , I'm _really_ sorry--" 

And Dad, who has never taken pity on his own fucking flesh and blood, and is _probably_ not about to take pity on Harrington, _either_ , holds up a hand, smiles, shakes his head. 

Billy doesn't see how he can be the villain if somebody else already is, but. 

He can't tell if _Dad's_ the bad guy, here, or if _Harrington's_ supposed to be. 

He can't _believe_ Harrington's trying to take the fall for him, when he doesn't _have_ to, and. 

Shit, does Harrington even know _how_ to buy drugs? 

This story might fall apart _real_ easy, if he doesn't, and that's _fine_ , it _really_ is, Billy just needs to know if it's _safe_ to pick up this lie or not, he needs to know what to _say_ , and. 

Harrington repeats, blinking sudden and furious and _real_ , "I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, _please_ , Mr Hargrove, you don't _understand_ , my dad will _kill_ me." 

_Tears_ are falling down his face. 

This is the most dramatic Billy's seen _anybody_ get since _the tenth grade_. 

 

 

 

 

 

When Harrington and his pint size crew of annoyances have cleared out of the house, when Dad's spent a few hours on the couch mainlining Miller Lite, when Billy can't take any more of listening to Max trying to hide that she's crying in her room, like she fucking _gets_ to cry, like anything fucking _happened_ to her, well.

That's when Billy decides it's time to go smoke a cigarette on the front porch, so he does that, but then the door opens, and he jumps.

He fucking _jumps_ , like a fucking _pussy_ , but it's not Dad, coming to give him some more shit, no, it's.

It's just Susan. 

She says, smiling weakly, "I wanted to give you this on Tuesday, but I wasn't sure if. I. When I showed Neil, a few months ago, he said to just throw it out, and, well. I didn't want to cause any problems with you two." 

Well, now, isn't that _sweet_ of her.

Billy wants to hit Susan in the fucking _face_. 

He _really_ wants to, he can _feel_ it, it's in his fingers, moving down through his palm, tingling like he _already_ fucking did it.

He asks, "What is it?"

She smiles again, hopeful and slow and.

And scared.

Fucking _scared_?

Scared of fucking _what_?

Of _Billy_? 

What the _fuck_ has he ever done to _her_? 

She pulls a vaguely familiar little book from behind her back, hands it over to Billy, says, "When we were packing for the move, I. Found this, in the attic? The pictures weren't all in there, but they were in the same box, so I. Thought I'd just put them in for you."

He doesn't have to open it up to know what she's talking about. 

Pictures of Billy when he was a kid, pictures of Mom and Dad before Billy was born, pictures of Mom's parents. 

The time Mom took Billy to Stearns Wharf and he got saltwater taffy stuck in his hair and Mom couldn't stop laughing and  _insisted_ on taking a picture for proof of his dumb annoyed little face, the time he had to dress up for his First Communion, the time in fifth grade when Billy's arm was in a cast and the _cutest_ girl in his _whole_ school signed it _LOVE Donna♡_ and Mom promised that someday, when he was older, he'd want to see it, because it was a _silver lining_.

But his mom was _wrong_ , and Billy  _knows_ Susan's not that smart, because _nobody_ who would marry Dad could ever be very _smart_ , but she can't be _this_ fucking dumb.

In _what_ goddamn universe would Billy _want_ to see this shit? 

Not _this_ fucking one, _that's_ for goddamn sure. 

In a universe where Mom's alive, Dad's dead, and Billy still lives in LA and doesn't have to be fucking angry and anxious and _alone_ all the fucking time, _sure_ , maybe _that's_ the universe where Billy wants to _remember the good times_ , but.

There aren't any good times to remember, here. 

Susan tries, "I. Do you? I hope I'm not overstepping, Billy, I--"

"Thank you, Susan," he says, because he doesn't trust himself to say anything else.

_God_ , Billy  _hates_ her.

He wants to fucking beat her into the _ground_.

She _deserves_ it.

Maybe she didn't _personally_ fuck up his whole life, _fine_ , but she hasn't ever made it any _better_ , either. 

Except, Billy's never raised a hand to Susan, because he's too smart to do that, and that's why she's going to be just fine, tonight, too.

Because Billy _knows_ that if he hits her, Susan will scream, and Dad will come outside, and then he'll fucking beat Billy until he _dies_. 

But, maybe that's all the more reason to do it.  

He doesn't need to open it up to know that everything in this photo album is the fucking _wake-up call_ from _hell_.

Those pictures are proof that Billy's life wasn't _always_ this rough, that's _true_ , but.

That's not a _good thing_.

That's not how Billy wants to have to think about it, because that means having to admit that that was as good as Billy's life ever was.

He's not going to have anything that good ever again.

There's nothing _left_. 

If Dad killed him now, it would be okay. 

Dad wouldn't even get into _trouble_ for it, as long as he played everything the right way.

He could say Billy ran away, and people would _believe_ it.

_Susan_ would believe it.

Max, too.

Shit, _everyone_ at school, even, or, maybe, _especially_ the other guys on the basketball team.

He's been so fucking _loud_ about hating Indiana.

No one's going to _care_.

All Dad has to do, now, is take Billy outside when nobody's home, and that could be whenever Dad _wants_ , since Susan does whatever he tells her to do. 

Except for trashing Billy's pictures like Dad told her to. 

She didn't do that. 

Billy almost forgot Susan was outside with him, but she's still right here, shivering even though she's bundled up in a bathrobe, lightly tapping her fingers on his shoulder, smiling, "It's so  _cold_ out here! Want to come in, have some hot chocolate with me?" 

He thinks, _no._

He thinks, _you've known me for years, and you still don't know that I don't like hot chocolate?_

He thinks,  _you never stick up for me. I'm just a kid. I deserve better than this. You give me a bunch of pictures that my dad was just going to throw away because that's how much he fucking cares about me, and, what, now you think this makes us friends? I'm not giving you any credit for being a halfway decent person, one fucking time. Anybody can do anything once._

He says, "No, I got my keys back, earlier. I'm going out." 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy sits in the Camaro for a little while, stares down at his hands on the wheel.

He's not thinking, he's not smoking, he's not listening to music.

He's just sitting in the front seat, shaking again, angry again, _scared_ again.

He doesn't know where to go, but he knows that Harrington lied for him, and Dad hasn't called any of Max's friends' parents _yet_ , but Billy _knows_ he's enough of a dick to do it, because _Billy's_ that fucking spiteful, _too_ , and it's not like Billy didn't get that from _somewhere_. 

If he goes to see Harrington, he can.

Wait. What _is_ he going to do? _Apologize_? 

_Jesus_ , fuck _that_.

What the fuck is  _wrong_ with him, today?  

 

 

 

 

 

Billy is _not_ going to go out looking for Harrington. 

He's _not_.

 

 

 

 

 

But he ends up at the diner off Main, and, surprise, surprise, Harrington's there, too, carefully spooning little bites of ice cream off the top of a slice of pie.

Billy slowly walks up behind him, grabs the sunglasses off Harrington's face before he can react, says, "Sorry about my dad." 

Harrington looks up at Billy, rolls his eyes, looks back down at his plate. "Don't worry about it, Hargrove. I _love_  it when big angry guys get in my face and tell me I'm an irresponsible asshole. It's always _really_ fun." 

Billy rolls his eyes, too. "Yeah, _God_ , okay, anyway. You didn't have to. I mean.  _Thanks_."

"...okay?"

" _Okay_." 

Harrington smiles a little, eyes Billy warily, then slides his plate across the table. 

"What." 

"Apple pie." Harrington leans over to Billy's side of the table to pick up his sunglasses, doesn't put them back on, just twirls them around for a minute, as he explains, "I _wanted_ a milkshake, but _Sarah_ , you know, the lady, her husband owns this place, Sarah? Yeah, she wouldn't give me one." 

" _Wow_ ," Billy gasps, widening his eyes, dropping his jaw for just a second. He _intends_ for it to come out dark and sarcastic and mocking, but the amused look on Harrington's face says Billy probably just seems indulgent, more than anything else, like he's talking to a _baby_ , or a _kitten_ , or _something_ _else_ that's small and dumb and vulnerable. "What a _bitch_." 

"She said I could _only_ get ice cream if I got pie." 

And, well, it's not like Billy _gives_ a shit, because he _doesn't_ , but Harrington _does_ eat too much ice cream, so it's probably for the best that _somebody's_ finally fucking _told_ him so, but.

"What, because _pie's_ supposed to be _healthy_?" 

"I  _know_!" Harrington crows, _way_ too loud.

He's  _obviously_ still stoned. 

Billy thinks about being five and his mom trying to tell him to _use your inside voice, Billy_ , thinks about being ten and Dad catching him crying and telling him _Christ, grow up, already_ , fifteen and kissing girls, thinking about boys, pretending he was shocked when girls would avoid him, after, because he was too _much_ and too _rough_ and too _loud_. 

Billy laughs, reaches over to take Harrington's spoon, shrugs, "This town's _real_ fucked up, King Steve."

 

 

 

 

 

Sarah kicks them out after Harrington starts on this _very_ serious and important mission of telling Billy about how, sometimes, in the Midwest, people eat _cheese_ with pie, _not_ ice cream, and then _Billy_ starts shouting about how that's _definitely_ not true, and has _got_ to be bullshit, and, okay, _fine_ , Billy _knows_ he can get kind of scary when he raises his voice, sometimes, so it's _probably_ kind of fair that Sarah kicked them out, but Billy doesn't appreciate being chased out of anywhere, really, so he's going to nurse this grudge for the next couple days, at _least_.

They're sitting on top of the Camaro outside the arcade, passing a cigarette back and forth, because the McDonald's parking lot was crowded as all shit, and Billy didn't know where else to go.

It wasn't like he could drive to Harrington's place.

If Billy _keeps_ going by that house, at _some_ point, he's going to _have_ to go back _inside_ , because it's not like he can lie about how he doesn't want to get caught by Harrington's parents, or whatever. 

He's not even sure Harrington's _got_ parents, anymore, really.

They could _totally_  just be an urban legend, right?

Now, Harrington's lips are still pulling at the cigarette, even though it's _supposed_ to be Billy's turn, so Billy reaches over to steal it back, tug it away from Harrington's mouth, and Harrington only glares at him for a few seconds before he lets it go.

"Hey, how many universes do you think there are?"

Billy blinks, confused. "Think that's my line." 

"I'm _serious._ " 

"Me, _too_ , asshole."

"No, come _on_. You're smart;  _tell_ me. How many universes are there?"

"Okay. There's _this_ universe," Billy starts. He's sure as shit _not_ telling Harrington about the universe he was thinking about earlier, the one where he doesn't have to worry about Dad killing him, the one where he's at home. "And, then. Maybe there's one where I didn't move to Hawkins."

" _Shit_ ," Harrington breathes, around a smirk. "I fucking _love_ that universe _already_."

"Probably a universe where all that _Star Wars_ sci-fi type shit is real."

Even before he's done saying it, he knows that _Star Wars_ isn't right.

He means _Star Trek_ , or something, maybe, but Harrington's a fucking _normal person_ , not Max or one of her geek friends, so he just nods encouragingly, pushes, "Is there a D&D universe?"

"Oh, there's _gotta_ be, _yeah_. That's _easily_ one of the top five universes, Harrington, I mean, _everybody_ wants to go to _that_ one."

It's more uselessly mean than anything else, just because there's nobody here who's going to be _offended_ by that, but.

Harrington _still_ tips his head back and cackles. 

Billy bites his lip, just so he doesn't end up laughing, too.

"A universe where I play ball professionally, probably a universe where I'm a famous rockstar--"

" _Sure_ , of _course_." 

"Universe that's all dead people. And monsters, you know. Like that Michael Jackson video."

Harrington stops laughing. " _You_ like _Michael Jackson_?" 

"If you cut me, I fucking _bleed_ , so, _yeah_ , Harrington,  _I_ like Michael Jackson." 

Harrington makes a face like he doesn't exactly _believe_ Billy, but also like he doesn't think it's worth fighting about, which is _smart_ of him, because Billy would _win_.

" _Okay_. Monsters and dead people. That can't be a universe, though, 'cause that's just. The end of the world, or something."

"That's called an _apocalypse_ , pretty boy," Billy rolls his eyes. "And it's _actually_ a well-known concept. _God_ , don't you ever _read_?" 

"Not really." 

"Yeah, well, it fucking _shows_." 

"Oh, _Billy_ ," Harrington sighs, letting his voice drift out all high and breathy and soft. "You're so _sweet_." 

"Hey, listen, you'd be fucking _dead_ in a _heartbeat_ in the apocalypse universe." 

"Shut _up_ , motherfucker, no, I fucking _wouldn't_." 

Yeah, he fucking _would_ , because Billy can't imagine  _anybody_ making it through an _apocalypse_ just because they happen to own a baseball bat with a bunch of nails stuck in it, but especially not _Harrington_ , whose skills in life appear to just be babysitting, doing his hair, and sulkily eating ice cream.

"Now, _me_ , I'd fucking _thrive_ in the apocalypse universe," Billy muses. "Just me and my car. Never have to talk to anybody I don't want. _And_ , it's an _apocalypse_ , right, so I probably _never_ have to pay for cigarettes, like. I can just _take_ shit from people."

" _Wow_ ," hums Harrington. "Shame you're stuck _here_ , then. Where you. _Always_? Ask for permission? _Before_ you take things, I guess, _right_?"

"Okay, _hey_ , don't be such a little _bitch_ just 'cause Apocalypse Me is better than Apocalypse _You_."

"Apocalypse Me would do _just fine_."

"Are you _joking_? Apocalypse Harrington would come crying to me to save his ass about  _four and a half minutes_ after the start of the apocalypse, I _guarantee_ you," Billy sneers. 

" _And_?"

"And _what_?"

"And," Harrington raises his eyebrows. " _Would_ you save me?" 

Billy thinks, _no_.

Billy thinks, _you know I fucking hate you, right?_

Billy thinks, _suck my dick._

Billy lies, "No way in _hell_." 

"Oh, come _on_ , Hargrove, have a _heart_."

Billy rolls his eyes again. " _I_ wouldn't save you, but. I don't know, maybe Apocalypse Me is nicer than I am." 

"That does seem possible, but only 'cause _anybody_ could be nicer than you."

" _Okay_." 

"I'm saying you're _real_  mean," Harrington yawns, cracks his neck to the side, lets his face go all weird, soft and dumb and lazy when he smiles over at Billy. "So _anybody_ could be nicer, without even _trying_ , probably, man. _That's_ the joke."  

"Yeah, _no_ , I _got_  you, Jesus, shut _up_." 

"Apocalypse Billy and me would be _best_ fucking friends," Harrington decides. " _That_ universe could be cool." 

"There's _no_ universe where you and me are friends," Billy informs him, getting his feet down on the pavement, finishing off their cigarette. "Look, it's cold as _shit_ out here, so. It's bedtime for all of Hawkins' local drama queens." 

Harrington looks down at him, gives him a _big_ smile, and then he fucking _rolls his eyes_. "Hargrove, your dad seems like a  _real_ asshole, so I'm _pretty sure_ if I _hadn't_ learned to cry on cue back in the boring as shit summer of '78, your ass would be _grass_  right now, so you know what? You're _welcome_." 

Well, _okay_ , Harrington is _absolutely_ _right_ about that, but Billy's _not_ going to _thank_ him and, therefore, stroke his fucking _ego_ , so. 

"If you don't get in this fucking car _right now_ , I'm _leaving_ you here." 

" _Shit_ , Hargrove," Harrington swears, scowling, clambering down off the car, opening up the passenger side door. "Look, this isn't me being _scared_  of you, 'cause I'm _not_ , but if I _wanted_ to talk to my goddamn _dad_ , I'd fucking _call_ him. _Jesus_."

 

 

 

 

 

Harrington falls asleep when Billy's driving him to his house, _stays_ asleep when Billy pulls up to his place, and.

Billy doesn't just open the door, push Harrington out of the car to fend for himself on his driveway, maybe get run over when his parents come home.

He _should_ , but.

He doesn't do that. 

Instead, Billy drives a lap around Harrington's neighborhood, waiting for him to wake up, but.

Harrington _doesn't_ wake up, so.

Billy pulls out further, does a lap around the trifecta that is their school and the middle school and the library.

He's widened out to hit the arcade, the Big Boy drive-in that's right off the highway, and the movie theater, when Harrington jolts upright, groans, "Oh  _God_ , what the _hell_." 

"Hey," says Billy.

"Jesus, _fuck_ , what," Harrington gasps, staring at Billy with wide shocked frightened eyes. "Shit. _Hi_." 

" _Hi_."

"Where are we?" 

Billy shrugs, and because it would be kind of gay to say something like  _you were sleeping, and I know you don't sleep a lot, so I just drove around for no reason_ , he says, instead, "You owe me, like. Three bucks for gas."

"Hey, have fun taking that to your fucking _grave_ , Hargrove, 'cause there's _no_ universe where I owe you _anything_ \--"

"Oh, _really_? What happened to the apocalypse?"

"I can take care of _myself_ in the apocalypse," Harrington spits, even though it's sure as _hell_ not true, and they _both_ fucking know it.  " _God_ , I don't need you to, _whatever_ , solve my _problems_ for me. No one has _ever_ needed you _less_ to solve a problem than _me_ , I think, which is, by the way, taking into consideration how I'm _pretty_ sure you have never _actually_ been beneficial in a problem-solving scenario, _ever_ , in your whole entire _life_." 

Billy covers up a yawn with his forearm, shifts the car into park, turns to glare at Harrington. "Are you done now?" 

Harrington scowls, like maybe he's trying to _intimidate_ Billy, or something _equally_ futile and hilarious, but that coupled with the absolute _mess_ that his hair is turning into just makes Harrington look about four years old when he snaps, "If I'm _done_ , it's 'cause I _wanna_ be done--"

Billy cuts him off, loudly, "So, you're saying you're _done_ , right?"

Harrington crosses his arms over his chest, still looking sulky and dumb and small.

_Honestly_ , it's pretty adorable, and Billy _kind of_ wants to lean over and kiss him on the forehead, which is too much for even _his_ ever-wavering sense of possible bisexuality, so Billy lies, " _Look_ , if you're ready to be a grown-up again, I need some help, 'cause I don't know where your house is."

"How is that even  _possible_."

"Want to drive?" 

" _Why_ would I want that," Harrington wonders, but then he pushes at Billy's shoulder until Billy gets out of the car, slides into his seat, groans. "I hate this _entire_ day."

Billy gets back in on the passenger side, lights a smoke, offers, "I'm not saying it's a _competition_ , Harrington, but if it _was_ , I'd _win_ , 'cause this whole _week's_ been really shitty for _me_." 

"Oh, fuck, yeah," Harrington says. "I _forgot_ about weeks."

What.

Billy sinks his teeth down into his tongue, hopefully, but.

No.

He laughs, "Wait, okay,  _what_?"

"Like, you're _right_ , this week _sucks_ , but I forgot there was a _whole_ week. Wow, _months_ , too." 

Goddamn.

Harrington is _so_ fucking dumb.

Billy decides to be nice and look past it, just for now.  

He can always come back to it, right?

"Yeah. I fucking _hated_ December."

"November?"

" _Hated_ it."

"October?"

"Kind of okay, could've been better."

Harrington makes a face. " _Born In The USA_ was on the radio a lot."

"Yeah, it was. In _November_."

"At the end of October!"

" _The end of October_ , right, _yeah_ ," Billy rolls his eyes. "I think that's often colloquially referred to as, you know, _the beginning of November_ \--"

"Okay, but you fucking _know_ what I _mean_ \--"

"I _don't_ know what you mean, Harrington. If you _ever_ start to think, _again_ , that I can be accurately described as being somebody who _knows what you mean_ , that's when I need you to stop, rewind, and fucking _tell_ me what you're thinking, so I can _remind_ you that I'm _not_ thinking the same shit as you." 

They're crossing town _way_ quicker than they should be.

If they get pulled over for speeding, Billy's going to fucking _kill_ Harrington, and, yeah, Harrington's got his jaw set like he's annoyed, so Billy _probably_ shouldn't push him any further, but. 

Billy does _lots_ of things that he probably shouldn't do.

He says, "You just blew a stop sign."

"No, I fucking  _didn't_." 

"Are you calling me a _liar_?" 

" _Yeah_ , I _guess_."

" _Great_ ," Billy laughs mockingly, because. _Jesus_. "In _what_ fucking universe do I _want_ to waste my time _lying_ to you about _traffic signals_?" 

Harrington brakes, _hard_ , so hard that Billy can fucking _hear_ it, and they sit there, in the car, for a second, like maybe they're both _equally_ shocked, like Harrington didn't know what he was doing until he _did_ it.

And hey, maybe he _didn't_ , but Billy's not giving him any special treatment if that's the case, because that's Billy's entire fucking _life_ , every day of the week, every hour, on the hour. 

He _never_ knows what the fuck he's doing. 

He's _still_ always got to deal with the consequences, after, though, so.  

Harrington has to, _too_.

He's not _special_.

He's not any _better_ than Billy is.

"What the _fuck_ , Harrington?!" 

"This isn't working," Harrington says, unbuckling his seat belt, opening up the Camaro, slipping into the street. They're right by the edge of the Big Boy parking lot, which isn't really ideal, because it's busy over there, and Billy's pretty sure he can see Tommy sitting with a few other guys from school, so. _That's_ already annoying, and will probably only get _more_ annoying by the _minute_. He glances back at Harrington, who is tugging down his shirt, like maybe it rode up when he climbed out of the car, which really  _only_ draws Billy's attention to the fact that he's _willingly_ hanging out with a _moron_ who's wearing a _T-shirt_ in, whatever, _twenty degree weather_ , because this asshole apparently  _wants_ to catch the plague and _die_ , or something. And, whatever, _sure_ , maybe Billy does that _too_ , sometimes, but he's still _new_ in town, so _he_ can still get away with it. "I gotta go home."

"We were _going_ to your house, _genius_ ," Billy sneers, getting back into the driver's seat, because, well.

That was his _first_ mistake, _obviously_.

Assuming that _Harrington_ could be trusted to operate a fucking _car_?

Yeah, _Jesus_ , it was _dumb_ , but as long as Billy doesn't make that mistake _again_ , everything should be sweet, now, right? 

Except, Harrington's still outside, in the middle of the street, like he _seriously_ wants to die. 

The chances of getting run over in Hawkins are _still_ pretty slim, but. 

Billy doesn't really like that there's a chance at _all_.

He waits a minute, tapping his fingers against the wheel, kind of just hoping that Harrington will get this little tantrum out of his system and move on.

He changes radio stations a few times, keeps looking up and out the window, just keeping an eye out, but.

Harrington's _still_ not back in the car.

Billy gives in, sighs, "Can you get back _in_ here, already? This is _really_ annoying for me, you know." 

And this is when Harrington _should_ roll his eyes, because that's just who Harrington fucking _is_ , but.

He _doesn't_ do that.

That's weird.

Billy blinks, and then he gets out of the car, too. 

 

 

 

 

 

Billy's pretty sure that sleepwalking is normal for little kids, and then for _nobody else_ , at all, ever, but apparently _Harrington_ doesn't know that, because it looks like he's got one _hell_ of a sleepwalking problem. 

Just off the top of his head, Billy can think of at least _ten_ ways to spin this to his _immediate_ advantage, but he doesn't follow up on any of them, because it all seems like a _lot_ of work, and he's feeling pretty drained, and, anyway, he kind of owes Harrington one, right? 

It's not like Billy  _really_ has to let this go, he just. 

Won't act on it _right away_.

He gets Harrington home, wrestles him out of the Camaro and into his house, up his staircase and into his room. 

He's standing in front of Harrington's open closet, trying to decide if getting Harrington's clothes off is going to be too gay, or if it's _actually_ , in fact, the _courteous_ thing to do, when Harrington mumbles, " _Billy_?"

Billy picks up a pair of sweats that look clean enough, bites his lip, calls absently, "Yeah, what?"

"Am I dreaming?" 

Billy glances over his shoulder, watches Harrington where he's sprawled out uselessly on his bed for a minute, then rolls his eyes. "You dream about me a _lot_ , pretty boy?" 

Harrington squirms around for a second, then pushes up on his elbows, lifts his head. 

He's probably still not _really_ awake, because his eyes are unfocused and hazy and red when he slurs out, "I dream about you _all the time_." 

Billy's a _really_ opportunistic kind of guy.

He _knows_ that, and he's mostly okay with it, because there's not all that much he can _do_ about it.

It kind of just comes along with being crazy and mean and smart, and he _likes_ that he's crazy and mean and smart, he _really_ does, but.

The thing is, Billy's been wanting to get his hands on Harrington for _weeks_. 

And he _could_ , right now, and nobody would ever have to _know_ , except Harrington, but he might just think it was a dream, anyway, right? 

_Shit_ , even if he _doesn't_ , it's not like anybody would _believe_  Harrington if he said anything.

He steps closer to the bed, thinking fast and hesitant and _hungry_ , all at once.

That baseball bat's probably still in the house, but Billy can't _see_ it, so it _could_ still be where he left it, the last time he was here. 

Across the hall, out of arm's reach, which means.

Well, this is probably the _best_ chance Billy will ever get to do this, if he really wants it. 

And _God_ , he _really_ fucking does.

Harrington still looks pretty out of it, but he's got a pillow hugged to his chest, now.

It doesn't make for _that_ much of a barrier between them, but maybe it seems like one, to Harrington.

Things always seem different when you're not totally awake yet, don't they? 

He eases himself down on top of Harrington, puts a hand down by either side of Harrington's face, smiles gently. "Hey." 

" _Hi_ ," Harrington mumbles, blinking up at him. He still looks lost and vulnerable and _moments_ away from sleep. "I'm _tired_."

"Yeah," Billy nods. Tired is good. Tired is perfect. _Jesus_ , this whole thing is fucking _perfect_. "Okay. Close your eyes for me, baby."

 

 

 

 

 

Billy wasn't _really_ thinking about getting laid tonight, not _really_.

Sex is messy enough when the other person actually _wants_ to be getting it on, so he can't imagine how hard it'd be to do it otherwise, but.

Kissing never hurt anybody, right?

Kissing never got anybody thrown in prison, or moved all the way out to motherfucking _Indiana_ , or violently murdered by their psycho dad, or anything, _right_?

Except.

Billy's only two, three, maybe three and a half kisses in, when Harrington starts fussing underneath him, talking low and fast and incoherent into Billy's mouth for a few minutes, but that seems pretty harmless, so Billy lets him talk.

And then, out of fucking _nowhere_ , Harrington wakes up enough to bite him, hard enough to make Billy _bleed_ , and. 

Billy gets the hell out of dodge, after that. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from the nicki minaj verse on beyonces _flawless_.
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> [on tumblr right here if you want to talk or anything!!!](http://joannavellick.tumblr.com/)


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